


Untitled Moments

by AndThereSheWent



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndThereSheWent/pseuds/AndThereSheWent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Jacob never answered the phone in New Moon? What if there was no rush to Volterra? What if . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Moments

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was the fruition of a notion that haunts nearly every Twilight reader at one point or another — what if Jacob hadn't answered the phone that fateful day? It's been bugging me for months to finally get my version down, and I'm quite proud that I actually got around to finishing the little blurb. I have plans for a few others, so we'll see what comes about.
> 
> For the record, I have no idea how to make the page look all nifty and clean with proper html and whatnot… and it seems the tabs are off (i'm currently trying to fix it!)... so if you could kindly over look any font mistakes or missing/ridiculous line-breaks, that would be awesome.
> 
> Project Team Beta worked their magic over my words and made them all nice and pretty and coherent. Any errors left over belong to me . . . unless I find someone cooler to blame.
> 
> I don't own Twilight . . . or New Moon for that matter.

_~*~Untitled Moments~*~_

_From New Moon, Page 412:_

_The shrill ring of the phone made us both jump, but it did not break his focus.  He took his hand from under my chin and reached over me to grab the receiver, but still held my face securely with the hand against my cheek.  His dark eyes did not free mine.  I was too muddled to react, even to take advantage of the distraction._

_“Swan residence,” Jacob said, his husky voice low and intense._

_Someone answered, and Jacob altered in an instant.  He straightened up, his hand dropped from my face.  His eyes went flat, his face blank, and I would have bet the measly remainder of my college fund that it was Alice._

_I recovered myself and held out my hand for the phone.  Jacob ignored me._

_“He’s not here,” Jacob said, and the words were menacing._

_There was some very short reply, a request for more information it seemed, because he added unwillingly, “He’s at the funeral.”_

_Then Jacob hung up the phone . . ._

 

~*~Untitled Moments~*~

_The shrill ring of the phone made us both jump, but it did not break his focus.  He took his hand from under my chin and reached over me to grab the receiver, but still held my face securely with the hand against my cheek.  His dark eyes did not free mine._  

Unable to hold the intensity of the moment, I turned my eyes to the telephone, reaching for it before he could answer whoever was on the line.  I placed my hand over the receiver.

“I have to answer this, Jake,” I told him as I lowered my head.  “It might be important.  It might be Charlie.”  He dropped his hand and stepped back slightly, giving me enough room to breathe.

The phone had thankfully broken me from my trance, allowing my muddled brain to communicate with my body before I did something foolish that I couldn’t take back.  As much as I wanted to appease him, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to follow the path that truly being with Jacob would bring.

I held the phone to my ear with one hand as I ran the other over my face where Jacob’s hand had been, relieved that the intensity had passed.   “Hello, Swan residence,” I answered. 

Silence. 

Not even static graced the line.

            “Hello?” I repeated.  “Is anyone there?”

            More silence.

            “All right then,” I sighed.  I was about to hang up when a very distinct voice called to me in little more than a whisper.

            _“Bella . . .”_

I froze; my arm extended halfway to the wall.  I knew that whisper the second it spoke my name though it came out so fragile, I’m surprised I heard it at all.  Jacob straightened, and his eyes went flat.   

Being a werewolf, Jacob’s sense of hearing was exponentially more defined than my own.  If his reaction was any inclination . . . I’m not sure my heart could take it if I was wrong . . . or right.  His left hand moved rigidly across my shoulder to take the phone, but I pushed it away.  “Give me the phone, Bella,” he said stiffly. 

I shook my head roughly and mouthed _No,_ moving away as he reached again.  There was no way in hell I was giving up this call.  My heart spluttered as I brought the receiver back to my ear slowly, cautiously, because surely I was hearing things.

            “Hello?” I asked again, only this time my voiced quavered.

            The silence felt like it dragged on forever before the whisper returned.

            _“I’m sorry . . .”_

It sounded so far away it could have been a gust of wind.

            I huffed a short breath as the sound flew through my ear and registered in my brain.  How could fate be so cruel and so kind in the exact same moment? 

            “Who is this?” my voice continued to tremble. 

 _Who am I kidding?_ I asked myself.  I knew who the whisper belonged to.  I only wanted to hear the full voice behind the listless taunting, the very voice which had come to haunt me since this last January, or if I was being completely honest, since that fateful day last September.

 _Please,_ I wanted to beg, _just say the name._

“Please, tell Alice . . . tell Alice that I’m not mad,” his words were smooth, almost serene. 

I felt the beginnings of a sob threaten to tear through my chest, but I bit my palm to keep it quelled.  Jacob reached for the phone once more, but I slid to the left, cradling it between my shoulder and head.  I spun until the cord wrapped around my body several times and pressed my back against the wall.  I glared at Jacob with futile warning.  He threw up his hands and shuffled off into the living room, his biceps flexing in anger as he clenched his fists.

I gripped the receiver tightly in my now moist palm.

“I will.”  It was all I could bring myself to say.  And it sounded pitiful.

“And Bella,” he continued, a trace of sadness lacing his words.  “I hope you’re doing well.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks, and I nodded as if he could see me, truly thankful that he couldn’t.  He didn’t need to see the nothing I’d dwindled away to without him.  Even if he wasn’t with me, even if he didn’t want me, even after all the heartache and wasted moments I’d spent blubbering around in oblivion without him, I wouldn’t wish him ill.  I wouldn’t wish him harm.  All the bad that happened between us, to bring us to this moment now, had happened because of me, because I wasn’t good enough.

My heart still loved him, still longed for him, still waited to hear him tap at my bedroom window once night had fallen and Charlie was fast asleep.  And I realized now as I heard his voice, his real voice, for the first time in months, that while I would love him forever — even if such a thing wasn’t possible for humans — I hoped that he wouldn’t be bound to spend eternity as I was bound to spend my lifetime: useless and alone. 

I should be angry at him, and I suppose on some subconscious level I was, but that anger fell far below how much I actually missed him — and how much I understood that he was too beautiful a creature to only be known by one little, insignificant human girl.  There would be another love for him, I was certain.  A love that would capture his attention like no other and hold it in all the ways I could not.

So yes, I did wish him well.

Even if my heart shouted otherwise.

I dove into my strength reserve and pulled what little I had left to the surface, forcing my voice to speak steady and strong.  Or at least I hoped that was how it sounded.

“I am . . .” I lied.  I took a deep breath to steady myself before I continued.  “I hope — I hope you’re well, too.” At least that much was the truth.

I heard the soft click signaling the line had been disconnected, followed shortly by the long hum of the dial tone before the phone was finally taken from me.  I didn’t hear Jacob come back into the kitchen.  He unwound me from the cord and removed the phone from my grasp, returning it to the wall.  I wanted to dig a dark hole I could crawl inside and slowly wallow in my grief, but his large, warm palm pressed flat against my back, keeping me safely above ground.

“I’m surprised you stayed quiet.” I said, sniffling.  I wiped my nose on my sleeve before I spun to face him.

He snorted.  “Trust me, it wasn’t easy.”

I wondered.  “Why _didn’t_ you take the phone from me, Jake?  You had to have heard who it was . . .”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head back and forth like he was trying to put the proper words to what he wanted to say but stuck with simpler terms.  “I wanted to take it from you, but I thought maybe you needed to hear . . .” He took a deep breath through his nose and cringed.  Alice’s scent must still be in the room. 

Suddenly my Jacob slipped away and Sam’s Jacob stood before me. 

            “What did the bloodsucker want anyways?  He didn’t get enough torture in before he left?  He has to call to make sure you’re still miserable?”

            “Look, you can stop, okay?  Insulting him doesn’t make me feel any better.”  I shook my head and moved over to the sink, grabbing a glass from the strainer.  I poured myself some cool water.  The amount of salt water I’d swallowed recently still lingered in my throat and left it scratchy and dry.  I gulped the fresh water greedily.

            “No.  But it does me,” he spat bitterly.

            “Jacob, stop right now — right this instant, or you can leave.” I pointed towards the door.  “And don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

            He sighed, defeated, and looked at me dejectedly.  “You would really pick them over me?  Still?”  He nodded toward the backdoor, referring to Alice, and I imagine the rest of the Cullens as well.

            “When you jump from being my supportive best-friend to an inconsiderate ass in zero-point-five seconds flat, yeah, sometimes I consider it,” I snapped. 

            Sometimes I forgot that while he looked much older than he was, Jacob was still a sixteen-year-old boy.  And while he had his own heartache, he hadn’t suffered the kind of heartache I’d suffered the past six months.  I wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anybody, especially Jake, but sometimes it’d be nice to have my best friend from La Push surround me in my time of need, warm and supporting as he was, instead of the vampire hating lug-nut who followed Sam’s orders on command.  He didn’t see the Cullens for _who_ they were but rather _what_ they were.  He didn’t understand, and I was beginning to doubt he ever would.

            “Jake, if you could just . . .” I swallowed.  “I need you right now, okay? _You,_ you.  Not the wolf you.  Please . . . I just . . . he _just_ called . . .” I leaned against the counter for support.

            The hard outer shell of Sam’s Jacob melted in an instant, and my Jacob clung to my side.  He held me up by the shoulders as if I weighed next to nothing.  Which, all things considered, I probably did.

            “Aw, Bells, I’m sorry.  I really am.” He hugged me to his chest, and more tears trailed down my face and soaked into his shirt before I could stop them.  “I know I’m a jerk.  Sometimes I forget.  That’s all.  I can’t help myself.”

            I chuckled somberly.  “Yeah, no kidding.”

            He rubbed his hands soothingly up and down my arms.  “So . . . what _did_ he call for?”

            “I’m not sure.” I told him as I swiped at the tears.  “He said to tell Alice that he wasn’t mad.” 

            “What does that mean?” 

            “I don’t know . . . I mean . . . Alice said something about him not knowing she’d come back.  Maybe he found out or something?”

            “Stupid bloodsucker,” he scoffed, though it sounded like the comment was directed toward Edward more so than vampires in general.

            A tap on the backdoor made both of us turn around.  I could see Alice’s shape through the curtains covering the window.  I immediately moved to get the door.  Jacob pulled me back.

            “So, where does this leave us?”

            I took one of his giant hands, locking his fingers with mine, and let it fall between us, unsure of what to tell him.

I wasn’t good enough for Edward.  That I knew.  But in a sense, I also wasn’t good enough for Jacob.  He deserved someone who wasn’t broken, someone who wasn’t always longing for the life which had left her behind.  I knew my problem — it was my absolute refusal to move on that kept me stuck inside my depressive shell.  I didn’t need anyone to tell me that.  He stuck around because he believed that someday I wouldn’t be like this, that I would get better.  My dilemma was how to tell my friend, so he could tell the boy with the crush, I would never be whole the way he imagined me to be.  I would always be thankful for Jacob — for somehow being the light in my darkest, craziest of hours — but I would never be good enough for him, either. 

            Life was funny like that.  Purely cruel, but funny.

            So where _did_ this leave us?

            “It leaves us . . .” I sighed, looking between Jacob and Alice. 

And suddenly I realized I wouldn’t pick between the two.  I wouldn’t pick between the life I no longer had and the life I could have.  I wouldn’t do that to Jacob, and I wouldn’t do that to myself.  Whether Jacob stayed or not, it would be his choice, and I would give him that.  I would give him the decision that wasn’t given to me.  I wasn’t going to pick sides between my two best friends.  I would hang on to both of them for as long as I could, for as long as they’d let me.  Caught in a world between vampires and werewolves — there was little else I could do.

In my mind, my decision solidified, and I let the small influx of confidence it gave me flow through my bloodstream — a deep breath suppressed any possible second guessing.

“It leaves us in the kitchen,” I answered.  He gazed at me curiously.  “Alice is staying.  Whether you like it or not.  I can’t speak for you or Sam . . . and Victoria’s still out there . . . but you can do what you want.”

            And just like that we were back to the catch-22. 

 

~*~Untitled Moments~*~

 

            I honestly had no idea what to do with myself.

            I lay on my bed, restless as always, but now it wasn’t from the nightmares.  For the first time in months, I’d gone through a night without screaming at all.  Charlie, unused to my evening silence, came in at two a.m. and woke me from the odd, peaceful sleep I was experiencing.  I wasn’t upset that he woke me.  I just felt bad that he had to for his own peace of mind in order to make sure I was still breathing. 

            “I didn’t mean to disturb you, B.  I was just checking.  Go back to sleep,” he said and kissed my forehead.  He left the door ajar, and I listened to his footsteps as he fumbled through the dark hallway back to his room.  His door shut with a light click. 

I sighed groggily and rolled over, unable to lull myself back to that blissful state of unconsciousness.  The last I’d seen of the clock before falling asleep was eight-fifteen on the nose.  Meaning, since it was now two a.m., I’d officially gotten a healthy six hours of uninterrupted sleep.  Another abnormality, it would seem.  No wonder Charlie was scared.  I wasn’t sure if I shouldn’t be, too.

I rolled over again, lying on my stomach for a change, and kicked off my socks since my feet were unusually warm.  I listened to the wind as it picked up and tried to find a soothing rhythm as the trees tap-tap-tapped against the window.  Unable to find anything overtly rhythmic in the sound, I opened my eyes to watch the branches swaying in the shadows.  It was going to be a long night, I could tell.  I rolled over again and curled up into a ball, snuggling into the throw Grandma Swan had made for me.  I needed to get back to sleep before I could concentrate on Alice, or worse, Jacob.

Alice had departed three days after her arrival.  Before I could have a proper panic attack at the mere thought of her leaving, she’d sat me down on the couch next to her and explained what she had planned.  She wasn’t going to stay away anymore, but there were a few things that she and the rest of the Cullens needed to take care of before any of them could make a proper return.

My outlook had brightened immensely at the idea of not just Alice, but Jasper, Carlisle, Esme, and Emmett returning; I even longed to see Rosalie.  Alice had hugged me as hard as she could without breaking my bones.  She’d told me once everything was taken care of, which she specifically stated shouldn’t take longer than a week, we were going to sit down and have a proper talk.  Whether the talk would include any of the others, she couldn’t say.  We could talk about politics for seven hours straight, and I wouldn’t care.  I was just glad she was coming home.

 _One week, just one week,_ was the mantra I’d repeated to myself the first day she was gone.  On the second day, I’d busied myself with cleaning, taking care of Charlie, and homework.  The third day, I’d torturously avoided any and all things Jacob; I’d cleaned the house again, made sure all my homework was neatly organized, and gone to school like I wasn’t awaiting the return of a family of vampires . . . normal stuff.  Two more days had passed, and I was running out of cleaning supplies.

Still unable to nod off due to an overactive mind, I uncurled from my blankets and fitfully kicked them off.  I was going to get up and start my stone-age computer, so I could finish writing my latest letter to Renee, when my stomach growled, promptly canceling those plans.  It was technically morning.  I supposed an early breakfast wouldn’t hurt.

I tossed on a baggy pair of pajama pants, pulling the string tight and tying it with a loop so they wouldn’t fall, and then made my way into the kitchen extra carefully so as not to wake up Charlie.  My stomach objected when I imagined eating cereal — apparently bran flakes and raisins were not all that appealing.  I did a quick recon of the items in the fridge and decided to scramble an egg with a bit of black pepper and a pinch of oregano.  I popped bread in the toaster as I waited for the butter to melt in the pan.  The wind was really picking up, and I moved the curtain back to take a quick peek.  It wasn’t raining, but there were clouds rolling in over the horizon, covering up the vividness of the full moon. 

I ate my egg in the silence of the morning, besides the crunch of the toast and moan of the wind, concentrating on each chew carefully.  Something just didn’t feel quite right this morning.  Something was different.  I went over my mental chore list, wondering if I had missed cleaning anything, but I doubted it.

After I washed the dishes and set them in the strainer to dry, I tiptoed over to the backdoor to check the lock.  I jiggled the handle, unsure what I would find besides a locked door.  Charlie always made sure the house was secure before he settled in for the night.  Even though we lived in Forks, which was _clearly_ a hub of human criminal activity, he was still the Chief, and old habits were hard to break. 

The porch light was on, illuminating the large backyard and swaying trees.  Once I was done there, I crept to the front door and did the same thing — again, nothing out of the ordinary.  I proceeded to check all the windows too, just in case.

Alice had told me Victoria fled into the Canadian wilderness on a northeastern path.  Even if she did try to come back while Alice was gone, it would take her days before she could reach Forks.  Alice was watching her closely and would see if she altered her path with enough time to let me know.  If she couldn’t make it back in time, I already had plans to run myself into La Push to the closest protection I had available against manic evil vampires.  So checking the windows wasn’t really a precaution against vampires — I was simply making sure the house was up to human intruder standards.

Yep.  That’s what I was doing.

Once I’d gone over the house a second time, checking every light switch, lock and door, I headed back upstairs to gather what I needed for a shower.  I’d wasted only an hour at breakfast and playing night guard.  I still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on outside my narrow, human field of vision.  It was like my instincts were on high alert, and it made me all the more jumpy because I wasn’t used to feeling so . . .  aware . . . awake . . . alive? 

Alice’s visit, and her imminent return, had supplied a jump-start to my system.  I felt like a live wire.  I took extra care not to touch any outlets.

I almost dove into the bathroom and locked the door, like a child being chased by an invisible foe, until I remembered that even when I was a child, I didn’t frighten over silly imaginary things.  I flipped on the light in the bathroom and pulled a towel from the closet.  It was closing in on three-thirty.  I figured I could get my things ready for a shower then find something else to occupy me until Charlie got up.  I closed the door while I brushed my teeth for the proper two-plus minutes. 

When I opened the door and stared into the dark hallway, I saw my bedroom door move slightly.  That wasn’t good for my budding paranoia.  I swung the bathroom door back and forth a few times and noticed it moved again — it was the pull of air in the hall that had made it move.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  I quickly retrieved my bathroom bag and a change of clothes from my room and placed them on the counter in the bathroom, all set for a shower once Charlie was up and about, and then shut off the light on my exit.

Out of things to do, it was as good a time as any to write to Renee.  If I finished it early, I could send it out before I left for school so she wouldn’t question the time stamp on the email header.  The old machine kicked on with a whirl, and I flopped back on the bed waiting for it to fully boot up before I dared click anything.  I flung my arm over my head and breathed deeply.  My nerves were going crazy.  Either that or I was, and I didn’t really want to consider that alternative at the moment.  The computer screen lit up the room with an eerie bluish glow.  I leaned up on my elbows to see how far along it was and found it on the welcome screen.  I swung off the side of the bed and turned on the bedside lamp.  It was only on for a moment before there was a loud crash outside, followed by a sharp flash of light inside, and then the electricity went out.

After I peeled my bones off the ceiling and stuffed them back into my body, I took a chance and glanced out the window.  The wind had most likely knocked a tree down, but from upstairs, I couldn’t see where it touched the power line.  I briefly considered waking Charlie, claiming I didn’t know how to run the fuse box in a childish voice, but thought better of it; if the sound of a crashing tree couldn’t wake him, he was sleeping pretty deeply.  I rustled around my dresser in pure darkness, hunting for a flashlight, and stubbed a toe in the process.  Coming up empty-handed, I carefully crawled back into bed.  I didn’t dare walk down the stairs without some source of light.  I’d end up waking Charlie with my own rendition of a falling tree.

I sat with my back against the headboard and pulled the blanket over my knees.  The moon cast down all the more brightly once the wind cleared the clouds out of the way.  I focused on the shadows as they danced across the floor, illuminated by the moonlight through the window.  After awhile I could feel myself dosing off, my lids growing heavy as I thought of nothing particular.  As I approached the welcoming brink of unconsciousness, I unexpectedly felt my skin come alive again, the spark somehow stronger than it had been before.  The last I saw before slipping into dream was the blurry image of a body dressed in black, a contrast to the pure white skin — and no doubt a byproduct of my wired senses tapping into my subconscious — climbing through my window.  Leave it to me that the one window I forgot to check was in my own bedroom.

A light, cold breeze fluttered over my body as the window opened and shut.  This was going to be one of those interactive dreams.  I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes and snap out of it.  I wanted sleep to come.  I wanted this dream for whatever it was.  I wanted to believe, if only for one moment before the nightmare began, that _he_ had just climbed through my window.  I felt myself smile at the notion. 

His golden eyes would be brighter than the moon itself, and he would look at me in wanting.  He would touch my hair, his cold lips lingering along my cheek, and all that had passed would be forgotten.  I would awake from this unusually cruel nightmare to find the last six months had been a dream.  Everything that had passed before this moment, it would be like it . . . would be like it . . . like it . . .

_It will be like I never existed._

A touch as cold as ice grazed my leg through the blanket and I flinched, my eyes popping open.  A blur as white as the moon dashed across the room and pressed itself against the wall behind the rocking chair. 

Every hole in my chest closed and re-opened simultaneously, repeating several times as I stared at him through the dark. 

It wasn’t possible.  It couldn’t be.  He wouldn’t . . .  he promised . . .

Coherent thought escaped me. 

I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t . . . I coul . . .  

“Please, Bella, _breathe_.”

I gasped.            

 

 

 


End file.
